


eight, thirty-one: dance

by transishimaru



Series: eight, thirty-one [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 04:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19310749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transishimaru/pseuds/transishimaru
Summary: a bonus chapter toeight, thirty-onewith the two nerds dancing, written for Pride Month





	eight, thirty-one: dance

“So what’re these dances ya know?” Mondo is laying this his feet on the bed, letters displayed on his thighs, not particularly bothered by his significant other’s pointed looks at his shoes. It’s his room, after all, not Taka’s.

The other boy’s gaze shifts from disappointed to flustered; from his feet, to his lap. “You’re re-reading them?” Mondo watches the color intensify until his cheeks nearly match his eyes. “Why?”

Mondo feels the echo of his heartbeat in his throat. He doesn’t fight back against the smile that runs over his face. Leon’s not around to tease him for it, although as happy as he is he could care less what his friend thinks. “’s the best thing anyone’s ever given me,” he says, watching tears line up in Taka’s eyes. “Sure as shit beats readin’ those books fer English.”

“Language,” Taka warns him, but there’s not much tone behind it. He gets so quiet when he’s like this, and it’s strange to watch the difference. It’s endearing, and it’s flattering.

He watches Kiyotaka’s fingers twist as they tighten in the fabric of his pants, and thinks about the way they moved, folding paper into diamonds.

“Just basic ballroom dances. Why do you ask?”

Mondo straightens the papers in his hands and moves, sliding his feet off the bed and sitting up. He sets the letters down on the edge of his desk, leaning in to where Taka is sitting, just to watch his neck and ears color in when he says, “I want ya to teach me.”

He blinks. Mondo follows the line of his throat as he swallows. “Really? Why?” His fingers curl into his palms, forming fists as his eyes flicker between Mondo’s face and the floor. “Not that I am saying no! I just don’t understand the sudden interest.”

To be honest, Mondo’s not sure himself how to explain it. He likes the idea of holding Taka close, of having his hands on Taka’s waist. There’s something intimate and special about being that close, touching that much, breathing the same air. But if he says it like that, his boyfriend might actually spontaneously combust, and he’s not sure if he could even manage to say something like that out loud.

_In a letter, it would be different._

“’Cause when you get elected Prime Minister and ya gotta go to all these fancy parties ‘n shit, I expect you to save at least one fer me.”

There’s something more implied underneath his words that it’s too soon to talk about. For the moment he can let it sit there, let Kiyotaka think about it without pressure, and they can get back to the question when there’s been more time to think about it. When it won’t all feel so rushed.

Kiyotaka doesn’t scold him on his language this time. He watches his hands uncurl, braced on his knees as he stands. “Alright,” he says. “There’s not much room in here, but I could probably make something work.” Mondo stands, and lets Kiyotaka alter his stance, moving his arms and fixing his posture. It’s a little awkward, being led by someone about six inches shorter. And he’s right about there not being much room; it’s evident that his movements have been practiced to perfection, but it’s also clear he’s never danced with a partner before.

And Mondo’s never danced at all. He’s clumsy, feels like he’s on the verge of falling over every time he steps back. And every time he takes a step forward, he comes too close, almost knocking his chest into Taka’s, fingers squeezing his partner’s where they meet. “If you are having trouble, you may look at your feet,” Taka says, directed at his own shoes where his stare is. “That is considered acceptable, for beginners.”

Mondo pretends to think about it, humming. “Nah. I like lookin’ at you better.”

Taka makes a noise like a laugh and a whine combined, fingers on Mondo’s back curving into the fabric of his tank top. Under his breath he’s counting _one, two, three,_ making himself move slower to accommodate Mondo’s unpracticed steps.

Taka looks up at him for a second, eyes locking, and he mis-steps, moving too far and backing Mondo against his desk. He stumbles, pressed against him, and Mondo takes advantage of the situation to slide his hand down Taka’s back and pull him closer, kiss him softly. Against his back, Kiyotaka’s fingers tighten.

He still kisses like it’s their first time, every time. At some point in time, he is sure, Taka was counting. Were it anyone else, he would have a hard time understanding why; but numbers seem to matter so much more between them than they do anywhere else. The syllables of a haiku and the days in a month and the number of letters, and the tempo of a dance.

This date, this number, is important too.

Kiyotaka still forgets to breathe when they kiss, pulling back to put his head on Mondo’s shoulder. Their arms drop to their sides, fingers still linked.

Now is as good a time as any. “I have t’ give you somethin’,” Mondo says. He steps back to open his desk’s top drawer, pulling a small jewelry bag out of it, placing it in Kiyotaka’s hands. “Go ‘head. Open it.”

Taka frowns at it, tears pressing up in his eyes. He thinks he knows what his boyfriend will say before it comes out of his mouth. “But- Christmas isn’t for another two weeks, and I don’t have anything –“

“It’s not a Christmas gift,” Mondo interrupts, deciding not to tell Taka he has something else in mind for that. Taka only looks at him, quizzical. He presses his hand against Taka’s jaw, thumb caressing his cheek. “Ya know what today is?”

“It’s December eighth.”

Mondo smirks. “Open the bag.”

Kiyotaka lets his head tilt into Mondo’s hand as he pries the bag open, upending it into his open palm. He drops the bag when he realizes what he’s holding, hand closing around it in surprise. Mondo leans in to kiss his forehead, smiling. “It took me a while t’ figure out how ta give it to you. I figured ya’d be more likely to wear it as a pin.” He thinks about it. “Ya don’t gotta –“

“Are- are you sure?” He’s crying, and really, Mondo should have expected that.

“Taka.” Taka looks up at him, still flustered, blinking rapidly. Mondo angles his head down so their lips are slightly touching, not quite kissing, when he says “It’s been a year. I still read your letters every month.” Taka moves his head down, anxious smile on his face, just as Mondo thought he would. He takes one of Taka’s hands and pulls it up to his neck, guiding his fingers to wrap around the ball-and-chain necklace, pulling it from under his shirt. Taka’s own button in his left hand, and Mondo’s in his right. “I lo-“

Kiyotaka interrupts him, putting a little too much force behind his lips when he kisses him, still holding Mondo in place by the necklace. It’s one of the few times he’s initiated physical contact, more secure in his words than his actions.

It leaves Mondo winded, every time he makes the effort. “-ve you,” Mondo finishes softly, watching Kiyotaka pin his button to his gakuran, above his own heart.

“I love you, too,” he replies.


End file.
